


Athena wept

by Tashilover



Category: Endeavour
Genre: Genderfuck, Girl!Morse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though Morse was a competent police officer, Thursday couldn't help but be protective of her.</p><p>Girl!Morse</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now I know back in the day they didn't allow women to be police officers, but for fic sakes, let's just ignore that. =)
> 
> EDIT: I was wrong, they DID have police women back in the day, just not performing the same duties.

Morse would be such a pretty young gal if she placed any actual effort into her looks. She kept her skirts pressed, her blouses free of wrinkles, and her hair was clean, Thursday would give her that. But she could do so much  _more_. She kept her hair short, perhaps to avoid styling it rather than believing it was fashionable. She never wore jewelry, never wore perfume or makeup. It made Thursday wonder if she had ever used lipstick in her life.

Thursday kept his opinions to himself. Mainly due to the fact Morse heard those words practically everyday at work. It must drove her nuts.

"You have a sister, don't you?" Jakes asked, leaning his hip against Morse's desk as he looked down at her. He glanced at her breasts no less than three times before finally settling on her face. "She never taught you how to put blush on? Lipstick?"

Morse continued writing her report. "My dad was a taxi driver. We couldn't afford such things."

"Surely you can afford such things now. Maybe if you actually made yourself look attractive for once, we could get some of these suspects to answer questions instead of lying to you all the time."

Morse's hand stopped writing at that point. The girl would rather avoid fights and confrontations with the others in the office. Because she was a woman or because she was at the bottom of the totem pole, Thursday didn't know. The only time when she spoke up was when she knew she was right. Which was most of the time, but in situations like these, when someone took a crack at her personally, she clammed up.

"That's enough, Jakes. Push off."

Jakes blinked in surprise at Thursday's sudden appearance, and showed a moment of panic believing himself to be in trouble. He evaded such embarrassment by looking away quickly, and getting up to go to his own desk, avoiding all eye contact.

Thursday turned to Morse. "You alright there, Morse?"

Morse nodded. She didn't say thank you, though Thursday wasn't expecting one. He should really let her fight her own battles. If she couldn't stand up to men like Jakes, she was going to get eaten alive out in the real world.

 

 

 

 

Baring if there were no cases that needed immediate attention, the only days Thursday had off were on Sundays. He didn't go to church, not wishing to spend his mornings feeling guilty about his drinking or over eating. On Sundays he liked to take Win out for lunch or perhaps take the kids to the cinema.

However, Win liked going to church on Sundays. Sometimes she preferred to stay after mass, helping the cleric clean up or gossiping with the other women. Joan and Sam often took off with their friends, leaving Thursday on his own. He'd long gotten used to the idea of an empty nest.

With no wife or children to spend his day with, Thursday decided to simply enjoy the weather. Catch lunch at the pub, stroll through the park, perhaps buy a gift for Win or grab something for dinner.

It was really nice weather. It wasn't too cool, allowing Thursday to shed his coat shortly after he left the house. Spring came early, it seemed. He could see some of the trees blooming their flowers. Soon this whole area will smell beautifully.

Already the park was filled with people who had the same idea as he did. Kids were playing, couples laid out blankets on the wet grass, snuggling up to each other. It was such a wonderful scene, it made Thursday long for the company of his wife.

As he walked, he saw a young woman sitting on a bench, obviously waiting for someone. She had that anticipated look, the way she sat so stiffly, yet trying to go for a casual stance. She had short, red hair, and wore a simple blue dress. Her shoes were old and her purse didn't match. Still, from the angle Thursday could see her, she was pretty.

Then she turned to face him.

Thursday blinked. "Morse?"

Morse jerked in surprise, her cheeks going pink. "Sir," she said, nearly stammering.

Thursday walked closer, grinning at her appearance. "Are you wearing  _makeup_?"

She was. Not much, just some blush and lipstick. Win hated to be out in public without her makeup and Joan swore up and down by her eye shadow. "Judging from the makeup and the dress... Morse, are you on a date?"

Thursday briefly looked around, trying to locate the man who was taking his precious bag(wo)man on a date.

"I'm waiting for him, sir," Morse said. "He hasn't shown up yet."

Thursday glanced down to his watch. It was ten fifteen. Nobody sets up a date at ten fifteen. That meant the chap Morse had her eye on was late.

Or he stood her up.

It was too early to be thinking that, Thursday supposed. Still, it put a sour taste in his mouth that someone had the gull to be late on a date with his bagman. Thursday had been witness to his Joan coming home from dates with chaps who never showed up. Though Joan was a strong, independent young woman, the hurt in her eyes was still evident, fresh and bitter.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" Thursday said. He didn't bother waiting for an answer and sat down on the bench next to Morse. The girl was a little surprised by the move, and scooted over, putting space between them. "When you get to my age, Morse, your knees do not work as well as they use to."

"Yes, sir."

Thursday made a face. "It's Sunday, you don't have to call me that. Fred is just fine." At her reluctance, he added, "Or you can call me Thursday. Only fair seeing as I call you  _Morse_  and not-"

"I'm not a fan of my first name," Morse admitted. "My last name is just as silly, but less so."

"Oh? Then what shall you do when your date shows up? Have him call you by your last name?"

"People like to give me nicknames. I usually let them pick one.  _Endy_  is quite popular."

" _Endy_? Oh, that's hideous. I prefer Morse, thank you." Thursday looked at his watch again. It was now threatening to be ten twenty-five. That's it.

"Up," Thursday said, tapping the park bench with his finger before rising. "Your date is late and you're not waiting any longer."

Morse looked down on her own watch, a thin silver little thing suited for her small wrist. "It's not even ten thirty, I can wait a little while longer-"

"If he's not making an effort to get here on time, then he's not worth it. Trust me on this Morse, I used to be a young man myself."

There, Thursday could see it in her eyes, the beginnings of a hurt by a date who never showed. It was a blow to the ego and though Morse rose from the bench, she was still glancing around, looking for him. She must've really liked this bloke.

Thursday held out an arm which Morse awkwardly took. "C'mon," he said. "I'll treat you to lunch."


	2. Chapter 2

Thursday felt like he was twenty again. Though he would never say it out loud- because he knew better- having a young, pretty woman on his arm was such a fucking ego boost. It made him feel young, and he had to resist the urge to pick Morse up and twirl her around. If she were Joan or Win, he would've done it. They would giggle and slap his arm, telling him playfully to grow up.

If he did that with Morse, he would probably embarrass her greatly. Best to keep his hands to himself.

It wasn't until Thursday was turning the corner did he realize he was steering Morse towards the local pub. Sure, the place sold some pretty decent sandwiches, but he promised Morse lunch. He should take her to a cafe or something.

"What's wrong?" Morse asked, noticing Thursday's slow walk.

"Oh, I, um..." he looked around the street, trying to think of the nearest restaurant. He saw one restaurant down the way. It had some fancy looking French name painted on the glass. Way too high class, and probably more expensive than Thursday had planned to spend today.

Morse tugged on his arm. "C'mon, I'm dying for an ale."

Was she just saying that because she knew of his dilemma? He wouldn't be surprised if she did. "You drink when you're on a date?"

"I'm  _not_  on a date," she said, stepping back to allow him to open the door for her. "I'm with a friend. And I really do want some ale."

"Got you hooked, did I?"

She snorted. "Yes, sir." She then quickly added, "Ah... Thursday."

 

 

 

 

 

"I will have to admit it, I am glad to see you ordered real food and not a salad."

Morse pulled out her napkin and draped it over her lap. She was too busy staring down at her chicken sandwich with extra tomato to care. "I like salads," she said. "But only when I am in the mood for them. I'm hungry now and I wanted a chicken sandwich."

"And what would you have ordered on your date?"

"A salad," she admitted, grimacing a bit. "I've heard men say they want a woman who can eat, but what they say and what they mean are two different things."

"Are you quoting  _Gone With the Wind_?"

She shrugged and took a generous bite, groaning lightly in response. "Mmm..." she sighed, taking a swing of ale. "Plus, I would've been too nervous to really eat. Nothing says a first impression than shoving food down your gullet."

Nervous? The only times Thursday has seen Morse nervous were during autopsies. The girl has gotten better at not fainting at the first sight of blood, but she still has to look away during the first incision. "Must be a special one, this bloke of yours."

"I knew him, back when I still a student at college," Morse said through a mouthful of sandwich. "He was dating a different girl at the time, but he was always nice to me. We met again the other day, decided to catch up."

"Did you have a crush on him?"

Morse shook her head. "If I did, I don't remember."

Horseshit. She had a crush on him. Girls don't forget the ones they were enamored with. Win certainly never forgotten old John Lyles from when she was a teenager. Even now she still remarked how handsome she found that boy to be.

Now Thursday felt a little guilty for dragging Morse away from a date with a man she had a crush on. He still believed he was right, if this bloke really wanted Morse he would've made the damn effort to get his arse out there in time.

But... in the future, perhaps Thursday should keep his business out of where it didn't belong.

 

 

 

 

 

"Sing for me."

Morse wouldn't look more like a deer caught in the headlights if she tried. Her eyes were so wide, Thursday wondered if they were going to pop out of her head. Morse laughed nervously. "You put me quite on the spot there, sir."

After lunch they walked briefly around the local shops, window browsing. They circled around and went back to the park, trailing the pond's edge. "I heard you were in a choir group. I'm curious to know what you sound like."

Morse licked her lips, and briefly looked around to see if anybody was near. She sang in front of other people before, surely. Once she was satisfied she wasn't going to be overheard by strangers, she started humming softly, as her finger tapped out some unknown beat. Then she opened her mouth.

" _Nessun Dorma, Nessun Dorma, Tu pure, o, Principessa, nella tua fredda stanza, guardi le stelle che tremano d'amore..."_

Thursday broke out in a wide grin. Besides farting, very few policemen in the precinct held any other special talents. He knew Bright was a grand drawer, and Jakes apparently could play the piano (actual truth left unknown) but Morse was  _amazing_.

She trailed off, noticing the look on Thursday's face. She coughed.

"Not to sound like a walking cliche," Thursday said. "But you sound like an angel."

Morse blushed. "Not a cliche, though you are laying it on quite thick."

Despite her reluctance, she was grinning in praise, ducking her head to hide like any other blushing girl would. When she glanced back up again, her grin fell off.

Thursday followed her line of sight, and straight ahead was a young handsome man in a rather tasteful suit. " _Indy_ ," the man breathed, smiling. "I was wondering where you went."

Was this Morse's beau? He was over an  _hour late_ , and he was acting like Morse had wondered off after a few minutes.

Morse pulled away from Thursday's arm. "Sir, could you give us a few minutes?"

Thursday certainly did not want to. If Morse were Joan, he would walk her away from this idiot, telling her to keep her distance from such men. Grudgingly, Thursday nodded and stepped away, not before giving the man a dirty look.

Morse and her date didn't walk far. In an open area like this, sound carried easily. Thursday didn't have to strain his ears to hear their conversation.

"I am so sorry, Indy. I had to go to the dentist."

"The dentist? What happened?"

"Bugger of a tooth," the man said, gesturing to his mouth. "It was bothering me. I wish I could've called you beforehand, but it happened so quickly. I hope you can forgive me."

He sounded sincere. Morse considered him, glanced over to Thursday for a second, then said, "I would forgive you, David... if you were telling the truth."

David shifted, surprised. "What?"

"You thought I wouldn't smell the alcohol on your breath?" Morse said, huffing in disbelief. "Dentists don't do procedures on patients who've been drinking. And even if they did, drinking alcohol after a procedure would be painful. I don't know why you thought drinking before our date was necessary, or why you felt the need to lie about it, but I am not staying around to find out."

She tried to walk away, and David grabbed her by her arm.

Morse looked to his grip, then back at his face. Angry now, she said, "Remember I am a police officer, and in certain circles, this would be considered assault. So get your damn hand off of me."

Way to go, Morse.

David briefly gritted his teeth, and for a second, Thursday wondered if he was going to turn violent. David let go of Morse's arm, and stepped away. "Skinny little bitch," he said as Morse walked back to Thursday. "Yeah, go back to that old man of yours. You should stick to sucking on old men penises."

It's decided. Thursday was going to break his nose.

He was already shrugging off his coat when Morse placed a hand on his chest, halting him. "He's not worth the paperwork," she said.


	3. Chapter 3

They didn't speak much after that.

Thursday was fuming for allowing such a display to continue on. He did not spent months in the fucking dirt, having fucking Germans shoot at him, killing his friends all around him just so he could come back home to have that fucking prick throw dirt in his face. He should've broke that bastard's nose. He would've done no less for Win or Joan.

Morse refused to look at him. Was she ashamed? Was she angry?

Finally, Thursday had enough. "You deserve better than that," he said.

"He's not the first man to say such things," Morse said flatly. "It's fine, sir. It's something I've been dealing with since I was twelve."

Thursday gritted his teeth. He didn't want to hear this talk from her.

Morse suddenly stopped walking. Thursday halted in his steps, confused. "Why'd you stop?"

She jerked her head to her right. "My flat, sir," she said.

Thursday blinked. He didn't even notice. He had been lost in his own mind for so long- had Morse been steering him the whole way? Lord, his feet hurt. How long had they been walking?

"Thank you for lunch," Morse continued. "And the walk home. I appreciate it."

He wished he could do so much  _more_. This wasn't how he wanted to end today. "Right, Morse," he said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. "I'll see you at the office, then."

Morse didn't go inside. Thursday waited, refusing to leave until he saw Morse close that door behind her. Too many cases came across his desk of women disappearing after their dates, simply because the men never made sure they  _made it to the door_. Still, what was Morse waiting for? She was playing with her hands, staring up at him expectedly.

Realization struck him sharply, nearly stealing his breath.

Morse was waiting for him to  _kiss her_.

Granted, Thursday had not done this song and dance since his early thirties. Of course he wouldn't recognize the signs. He remembered doing this dozens of times, standing there awkwardly as butterflies fluttered sweetly in his stomach. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten that feeling.

Even more, he had no idea Morse even liked him. He was old, ugly, and certainly she could find a better, younger, handsomer man. Why would she even want-

Morse began to look uncomfortable. She shifted from foot to foot, glancing over to the door of the house as if thinking maybe she should go inside.

Thursday decided to end her anticipation. He reached out, and nudged her chin up.

With or without makeup, Morse was undeniably cute. Her big blue eyes fluttered at him, then she closed them, lips pursing lightly as she stood up her toes, leaning up.

She gasped gently when Thursday pressed his lips to the side of her mouth. "I'll see you tomorrow, Endeavour," he breathed against her cheek. "Bright and early."

He was glad to see she didn't seem disappointed. Relieved, maybe. He watched her walk the small path up to the house, grinning lightly as he saw her fingers trailed the spot where he kissed her. Thursday waited until she closed that door behind her. He placed his hat back on his head and started walking down the street.

He was never going to tell her how much he wanted to. He didn't know why he liked her so much. She was young, painfully so. She was stubborn, petulant, and frankly a bit of a snob. Last week she corrected Thursday's spelling on a report, almost gleefully pointing out his mistakes.

She was also immensely intelligent. Brave. Eager. Loyal. She was going to climb ranks, this girl. And when she does, Thursday was going to be there, standing tall and proud.

Of course Thursday wanted to kiss her. But he was still a married man and Morse's superior officer. If he crossed that line, there was no going back.

Thursday looked at his watch. It was only one in the afternoon. Though his feet hurt, he opted not to take a taxi. Instead, he placed his hands inside his pocket and went down the street, quietly humming  _Nessun Dorma_  to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like writing girl!Morse. I might come back to it one day.


	4. Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To keep my fics from clogging the Endeavour area, I'll simply place the girl!Morse fics here instead of turning them into a series. I'll indicate when each chapter is an independent fic.

Thursday was pleasantly surprised to see a full bouquet of daises sitting on top of Morse's desk. They were delivered, Thursday noticed. The message card still hanged off of one of the flowers. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion, sir," Morse said. "Sent from a secret admirer, actually."

"Oh, and who would that be?"

Morse took a moment to look around the office. When she saw nobody was near enough to overhear her, she whispered, "Strange."

Thursday nearly snorted. Why did he even bother asking? A blind, deaf, mute man would've been able to figure that out.

"I honestly don't know why he likes me so much," Morse said. "I've only known him for a few months."

This time, Thursday did snort. Did she seriously ask that question? Seriously? For such a highly educated, highly cultured girl, occasionally she was as dimwitted as a rock. He wanted to ask her if she liked Strange back- then decided against it. Thursday was a man in his fifties, not a school yard boy, whispering gossip with his mates in the rugby fields. Not the time and certainly not the place.

"What have you got going on there?" Thursday motioned with his hand to the reports she was writing on.

"Vandalism, sir. Someone's breaking windows and writing graffiti on several walls."

"Not a conspiracy connecting to six murders, I take it."

She grinned. "It's still early in the morning. Who knows what I'll come up with in an hour."

Smart aleck. "Do you mind?"

He was pointing at the daisies.

Morse shook her head. Thursday reached over and plucked a single flower out of her bouquet. He waved the flower in silent thanks, then moved away to go to his office. That's when he caught sight of Strange coming through the front door.

Strange immediately recognized the flower in Thursday's hand, his eyes blinking in surprise. He frowned, suddenly hurt. He said nothing though, his admiration still a 'secret' after all.

Thursday had intended the flower for himself, put chose instead to step forward, and tucked the flower into Strange's front pocket. "Stop beating around the bush," Thursday whispered to him. "She already knows."

Red bloomed across Strange's cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

It may not be a school's rugby field, but the game was still the same. Thursday shook his head, patted the flower on Strange's chest and let him go.

Jakes moved up next to Thursday. They both watched in silence as Strange not-so-subtly threw expectant glances over to Morse, who was too busy looking down at her own work to notice. Jakes idly lit a cigarette, took one puff and said, "Ten quid says Strange will confess his love by the end of the day."

"That's horrible, Jakes, just horrible," Thursday said. "Twenty quid says Morse talks to him first."

"Deal."

That night, Thursday won twenty pounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strange has the biggest man-crush on Morse, I swear...


	5. Family

Joan called Morse, "The sibling she never had." The title irritated the snuff out of Sam and it started many a squabbles between the two. Win took it with good humour, but Thursday personally found it annoying. The kids were too old to be fighting over such things.

"Dad, do you know Morse's size?"

Thursday looked up from the newspaper to Joan. In her hands she held a few of her old dresses. "What are you doing with those?"

"I don't wear these anymore," Joan said. "I was thinking maybe Morse would like them."

"Oh. Um... I don't know. Morse is smaller than you, but I'm not sure how much."

"Hmm... when is she coming over?"

Thursday made a face. As much as he liked Morse, it was not as if he was bringing the girl over every day to the house for tea and crumpets. Joan made it sound like Morse was a close family friend. Not even Thursday saw Morse every time he went to the station. The girl was sometimes too busy with general duties to be seen. "What, is Stephanie not your best friend anymore?"

"I like Morse," Joan huffed. "She's like the sister I never had."

"Morse has a sister."

"I would've never suspected."

"My bagman is not your pet project, Joan. You leave the girl alone."

Joan stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm not the only one who likes her. Mum practically adores her and Sam has a crush on her."

 _"I do not!"_ Yelled Sam from upstairs.

" _Yes, you do!_ " Joan yelled back. To Thursday, she added, "He does."

Thursday went back to his newspaper, ignoring his children's quips to each other. She wasn't wrong though. Just this morning Win was asking if Thursday was planning to have Morse over for dinner anytime soon. When Thursday explained Morse was busy studying for her sergeant's exam, Win gave him extra sandwiches to share with the girl.

That next day when Morse dropped him off at his house, Thursday had paused before getting out of the car, thought about Joan's words and said, "Morse, do you have plans for tonight?"

Morse frowned, and shook her head. "Just studying, sir."

"Then come inside with me. Win's been asking about you and Joan has a few questions."

Morse gaped and Thursday could see the mild panic in her eyes. _Oh no, social interaction_. Thursday thought he lost her, but she got out of the car, and followed him to the door. She was doing that weird twitch of hers, scratching the back of her head whenever she was thinking.

"Hello, dear," Win greeted Thursday, leaning over and giving him a peck on the cheek. Her eyes shined when she spotted Morse. "Ah, you brought Morse home! Joan, Morse is here!"

Morse turned back to Thursday with an accusing look. Thursday raised his hands in defense. He had no idea his family would go so crazy over her.

Joan came down the stairs. "Oh good, you're here. C'mon up with me, I want to see if my old dresses can fit you."

"Um..."

Joan took her by the arm and ignoring Morse's discomfort, lead her upstairs. "I also have a few shoes I could give you, but I have awkward feet so they might not fit..."

Joan didn't even give Morse a chance to take off her coat. Thursday shrugged his off, then jumped when Sam suddenly popped his head out of the dining room. " _Did you bring Morse home?_ " He whispered.

Oh god, the whole family was in love with the girl. "Yes, she's upstairs with your sister."

Sam's face went beet red. "I'll go study in my room," he announced, scrambling to gather his books and papers together. Thursday felt like teasing him but thought better of it. Sam was going to embarrass himself without Thursday's help.

Win was busying preparing dinner. It smelled like she splurged tonight on roast beef and potatoes. "What is it about Morse?" Thursday asked. "You never act this way about Jakes."

Win giggled. "It's because _you_ like her, Fred."

"So? I like Jakes too."

"No, you tolerate Jakes. But you never invited him in for dinner. You like Morse, so I like Morse. The kids noticed it too."

Thursday wanted to argue with her. _That's not it, it's something else_. There had to be another reason. Jakes and Morse were of the same age, and Thursday certainly wouldn't discriminate against Morse simply because of her gender. But Win did have a point: he would never invite Jakes over to dinner. "Huh."

"Don't worry your pretty head about it, dear," Win said, patting his cheek fondly. "Go wash up. And tell Morse too- you police folk get so dirty after a shift."


	6. Family 2

Growing up with a father like Thursday, Joan learned very quickly how to sniff out bullshit. She recognized false smiles, leering eyes, the little twitches on a person's face when they told a lie. She admitted it made things difficult when it came to making friends or talking to boys. Joan didn't need to read their minds to know what exactly they were thinking of.

"Okay," Joan said, pulling the dresses out of her closet. "I got this one, this one, and this one. What do you want to try on first?"

Morse had her hands in the pockets of her coat the whole time she'd been here. "Um... I don't think they'll fit me."

"Well, you won't know until you try. Here, you can put this on first. It's the smallest." She handed over Morse a green dress. It wasn't the smallest one, but it was the one Joan thought would look best on Morse. The green should compliment her hair and eyes.

Morse kept looking at the door like she wanted to get away. Sighing, she took the dress from Joan.

"Don't sound too grateful," Joan said to her.

"I'm not... I mean no disrespect. I was not the type of gal to do things like this when I was younger."

"You didn't? Dad says you have a sister."

Morse took off her coat. Underneath she wore her boring work clothes of dark colours. Even the heels she wore were ugly and dull. "We didn't have the money for luxury clothing. We had our school uniforms, our casual dresses, and perhaps one nice dress each for church."

"You never borrowed clothes from your friends?"

"Not really."

Morse took off her blouse. When Joan saw her bare skin, she nearly hissed.

She was aware Morse had accumulated a few injuries since she joined the police. Risks of the job and all that. No matter how hard Joan tried to get information out of her father, he was always vague in his description. Even that night when he brought Morse home and let her sleep on the couch, he said nothing to Joan and Sam except for, "Had a bit of a tumble. Give her a few hours and she'll be right as rain."

Joan ignorantly thought Morse had twisted an ankle. The actual truth surprised her.

On Morse's torso, down near her belly, she had a large puckered scar. It stood out from her pale skin, red and deep. The wound had gotten infected at some point, Joan knew. Sam had a similar wound when he stepped on a rusty nail three summers ago.

Higher up, near her ribs, Morse had another scar. This one was small, circular, and stark white. As Morse turned around to slip on the dress, Joan saw the similar wound pattern exiting out from Morse's back.

Dad had scars too. The long, jagged ones across his back and chest when he had rolled in barb wire. The dented, bent shape of his repeated broken fingers. Two bullet holes. And a large portion of his skin on his right shoulder had been burnt away. Despite it all, he was always grateful he was able to keep his eyes and ears.

Joan swallowed thickly. "So, um, how does the dress fit?"

"I dunno," Morse said, turning around to show Joan. It was a little big on her, but Joan was right. The green complimented her hair and eyes perfectly. "It hangs."

"Yeah, well, if we tuck in the dress a bit here," Joan said, grabbing the dress under Morse's arms, pinching it tight. "And a little bit here, look, it'll fit just fine. See? It's cute on you."


	7. Interrogation

"You two, in my office, now."

Thursday and Morse shared a look. Usually Blight was a bit more polite when giving out orders. To act this way first thing in the morning, something must have happened. Morse quickly readjusted her suit, patting down the wrinkles as she followed Thursday into Blight's office.

"Close the door," Blight said. He indicated for them to sit down. "I just got a call this morning from Gull's attorney."

Thursday didn't move, didn't blink, not wishing to give away what he was feeling. In the corner of his eye he saw Morse turn her head towards him, mouth slightly opened in surprise. That moment on the roof so many months back still haunted Thursday's dreams. "What does he want?"

"He's been talking, Thursday," Blight said. "About his other victims. If he's telling the truth, then his body count has risen to the _thirties_. He says he wants to give us the locations of where he's buried the bodies."

Morse was flabbergasted. "I don't understand, why is he talking now? It's been months since his arrest."

"I don't know," Blight admitted. "But at the moment, that is not our primary concern. Gull is willing to give us the locations, but on one condition: He wants to tell you, Morse, where they are personally."

"No," Thursday said immediately.

Morse licked her lips. "Sir-"

" _No_. This is a ploy or a trick or some psychological mind game. He played with us before and he's playing with us now."

"Thursday, I only brought you in on this as a courtesy because Morse is your bagman," Blight huffed in annoyance. "But at the end of the day, it's not _your_ consent I need. It's hers."

Morse didn't hesitate. "I'll do it."

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday was so angry with her, he could barely look at her the entire way to the prison. He didn't even let her drive.

Since Gull's arrest, twelve cold cases of past murders have been linked to him, but not proven. They all knew there had to be past murders, past kidnappings yet discovered. Gull's had his feet in America, Canada, and Australia. Who knew how big the body count was.

They waited for Gull in a private room. They had removed everything that could be used as a weapon and left them with nothing but a table and chairs. Neither of them had yet to sit down.

Morse turned to face Thursday. "Sir-"

"Save it," Thursday hissed. "I understand why you're doing it, I just don't like it. I hate that we're playing his game again."

"I won't let him pull the wool over my eyes. We now know what he's capable of."

"Do we? Something tells me he's just getting started. Keep your distance, Morse. We're on his territory now."

She was just as nervous as he was. Except Thursday hid his nervousness behind a veil of anger. It kept him from shaking, kept him from feeling the fear that was deep within his gut. Morse had yet to learn such techniques. Though she was calm, she tugged uselessly at her ear and hair. Thursday reached out and pulled her arm away. "Don't give him anything he can use," he said.

"What about you?"

" _What_ about me?"

"I'm not the one he tried to kill. You're just as nervous to see as I am, I can tell."

So much for hiding his own emotions. "I'm not the one who has their picture tacked to his wall. Let's not try to one-up each other on this. We're both in it and let's keep each other from drowning. Agreed?"

She smiled softly and nodded. "Agreed."

At the sound of approaching footsteps they pulled away from each other, straightening their backs and dropping the look on their faces.

Prison life did things to people. When Thursday saw certain inmates after months of incarceration, they often lost weight or gained a permanent set of bags under their eyes. He would never say it out loud, but it pleased him when he saw those signs. Physical proof that they were suffering from the consequences of their crimes.

Gull, Thursday was unfortunate to say, bore no such signs. When he walked through that door, he looked just as handsome as the day they brought him in. "Constable Morse," Gull greeted warmly. His arms were handcuffed in front of him. "How lovely it is to see you again."

Morse said nothing to him.

Gull's eyes traveled to Thursday. "Inspector. Personally I would have liked to talked to Morse alone, but if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't let her out my sight either."

The guard sat Gull down at the table and stepped away. He was a big man, bigger than Gull or Thursday. He could probably hold his own in a fight from merely using his chest as a battering ram. Was he here to keep Gull from escaping or to keep Thursday from leaping over this table and punching Gull in the throat?

Morse pulled out a pad of paper, a pen, and shoved them across the table to Gull.

He made no effort to touch them. "I said I'll tell you the names, Morse. I didn't say I'll write them down in silence."

"Then talk," Morse said, looking put out. "The names of your victims, how you killed them, and where you buried them."

"I'll tell you the names, but I can't give you all of their burial sites. Some of them were never buried, but washed away or liquified."

Though Morse had been getting better with handling blood and gore, the mental description was enough for her to fist her own coat. It took her a few seconds to find breath to speak again.

Gull found pleasure in her discomfort. He wasn't even hiding it anymore. "I want to strike up a deal."

"A deal?" Morse said. "You're going to be in prison for the rest of your life, there's no deal to be made."

"Prison is very boring, Morse. Now that I've got you here in front of me I want to milk it for all its worth."

"I'm not playing your games."

"Not really a game. I ask you a question, you answer it, and then you can ask me a question and I'll answer it. That way, we both get what we want."

Morse stood to leave. Thursday was already moving to open the door.

"You want to leave?" Gull said loudly. "Fine then. What will you explain to Melissa Lass about her daughter I killed three years ago? How about Dave Richards, he still believes his brother is out there somewhere. Maybe in one day in the far future you'll unearth a skeleton but you'll never know who they were or what killed them."

Morse stilled. Thursday already knew he'd lost her the moment Gull said that. Now there was nothing he could do or say to get Morse out of this room, not without those names. She was going to suffer and Thursday was going to have to watch.

Morse sat back down, cheeks pinching. "Ask away."

Gull cocked his head. "How old were you when your menstrual cycle started?"

Fucking _twat_.

"Ten," Morse said quickly, tossing a worried look over her shoulder. Thursday had already taken an aborted step forward, his fist curling tightly. The guard too had taken a half-step forward, but in Thursday's direction. He only stepped back when Thursday did.

Judging from the pleased expression on Gull's face, more questions like this was going to follow.

"You started very young," Gull mused.

Morse tapped her finger against the pad of paper. "Names and locations."

"I'll give you one name, one location," Gull chuckled, leaning down and quickly scratching out a line of text. "Per question..."

For the next half hour, Thursday learned more about Morse than he ever wanted to. She was sixteen when she first had sex with a boy named Conner. No, she didn't like it but the second time was a lot more fun. No, she has never been pregnant. Yes, she has had affairs with married men. Twice. Yes, she did get beaten up a lot as a child. No, she didn't like pain n the bedroom.

She answered every question without fail. The names of victims went on and on, and by the time the twenty-fifth name was written down, Thursday wondered if Gull was just fucking with them. Had he really killed so many people? Even Morse was staring at the paper with scrutiny. She kept going, answering the questions, showing no intention to stop.

Finally, when Gull asked Morse if she had ever been _raped_ , Thursday couldn't take it anymore. "That's enough," he snarled, stepping forward. "We're done here."

"Oh, papa bear is stepping up," Gull said rather gleefully. "Might as well end it. I am getting hungry. Perhaps we'll finish this another time."

"These names better prove true," Thursday threatened, snatching the pad of paper away from him. "If I find out you yanked us around like an _ass_ on a _chain_ , I'll see to it you'll be placed in solitary confinement for the rest of your sentence."

"The names are real, I promise you that. However, there's one name I haven't provided just yet: Jeremy Whorl."

Thursday stiffened.

"What?" Morse said, seeing Thursday's reaction. "Who is Jeremy Whorl?"

Jeremy Whorl was a twelve year old boy who had gone missing after his father's corpse was found mutilated in the family car. Dozens of man hours were put into finding the boy, knocking on doors, passing out pictures, investigating every lead, no matter how dull or unbelievable it was. In the end the boy was never found, leaving his grief-stricken mother to bury an empty coffin. Sam was six at the time, Joan nine, and every night Thursday would spend at least fifteen minutes looking into their rooms, ensuring they were alive and well. It was a case that has haunted him for _years_.

" _You killed him?_ " Thursday took a threatening step forward.

"I didn't kill him," Gull said. "But I know who did. He still lives in the country, last I checked. I'll give you his name... but I want to whisper it in Morse's ear."

"You're not allowed to touch or be touched," the guard warned.

"Not touching, just whispering. What do you say, Morse? Do you want to end the suffering of a mother who's been mourning the loss of her child for the past ten years?"

This wasn't worth it. They had enough names. Looking over the list, Thursday saw he recognized some of them. None of it won't be confirmed, of course, until they evicted the bodies from the ground. If these prove useful, then they could come back and find out Jeremy's killer.

It was Morse's decision first.

When the girl knew something to be right, she didn't hesitate, she didn't second guess. Grudgingly she stepped forward, leaning down to offer her ear to Gull. Her cheeks pinched as he moved closer, hovering his lips a mere inch away.

His hand suddenly shot out, grabbed her chin and forcibly turned her face towards him.

Her kissed her swiftly, smashing his mouth against hers. _  
_

Thursday got to him first.

The force from which Gull snapped his head back when Thursday's fist connected with his jaw was practically audible. He fell back, his chair going with him. The only thing that kept him from smashing his brains against the ground was the guard catching him. He was laughing from the floor.

"C'mon," Thursday hissed, grabbing a stunned Morse by the elbow and taking her out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Later, Morse would ask him, "Are you going to get fired over this?"

"I don't know," Thursday said. His knuckles were puffy and red. He didn't break bone, but by the time he goes home tonight, they were going to be painful beyond belief. "He kissed you first and I hold the right to defend my men. Don't worry so much about me, what about you? Did he hurt you when he grabbed you?"

"No. I was more stunned than anything. I should've seen that coming."

"We all should've seen that coming. Too desperate, I suppose. We first have to protect ourselves. We forgot that in our haste."

"Do you believe these names are real?" Morse said, looking over the list. "Do you think we'll find their bodies?"

She was changing the subject. How easily she brushed this off, like the offense was nothing more than an annoying bug on her shoulder. Was Joan the same way? Forced to pretend what happened was nothing because other prioritizes took over?

"I don't know," said Thursday. He should've hit Gull harder. "We'll deal with this tomorrow."


	8. Interrogation part A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've yet to see the second series and do not know of Jakes' background. Please forgive any inaccuracies.

It had been raining continuesly for the past three days, the ground was thick with cold water. Even with the extra uniforms helping out with the digging, they tired quickly. Each shovel full of mud was more rain than dirt.

"Switch out," Thursday said to the men in the hole.

The uniforms grunted as they climbed out, tired and weary and covered in filth. Their shoes leaked water, sloshing out of their soles. They handled over their shovels to Jakes and Morse, who were resting on the side, waiting for their turn again.

Blight, damp but clean, paced impatiently. "They've already dug to six feet, Thursday. How much more before you feel satisfied?"

The victim they were looking for today was a woman named, Victoria Grimes. She was an older woman, and when she was reported missing, along with several expensive pieces of jewelry, police thought it was a burglary gone wrong.

Victoria was the eighth victim on Gull's list. And the eighth lead that had yet to produce a body. There were seventeen other names on that list. How many more were going to be false?

"That's enough," Blight said. Morse and Jakes barely dug out a few inches. "Fill the hole, we've spent enough time here."

"Sir," Thursday tried to reason. "We haven't surveyed the whole area. Victoria Grimes could still be buried somewhere here. Perhaps if we could get some bloodhounds-"

"Bloodhounds, Thursday? By now it's obvious, Gull has sent us on a wild goose chase. I am not wasting any more man power looking for something that isn't there."

"There are twenty other names on that list, sir! We have to investigate them all-"

"No, we don't. You can, if you wish, but we've done enough here."

"Then I want to keep Morse and Jakes on-"

"Sergeant Jakes and DC Morse have their own work to look after. Enough of this, Thursday. Just... let it go."

 

 

 

 

 

If Gull given them false locations, he would be sent to isolation for obstructing justice. The only catch was, all twenty-five names had to be investigated. Sometimes bodies were moved, lost, eaten by wild animals. There was no way of knowing what happened to these bodies in the years they were disposed. Gull might be telling the truth, according to his lawyer.

Maybe Gull was fucking with them. Maybe he wasn't and all Thursday had to do was look harder.

Win was not going to be happy. "I'm not coming home tonight, dear. Work."

He didn't have to explain why. Just last week he and Morse spent over fifteen hours tracking down a hit-and-run of a twelve year old boy. Both of them ended up sleeping in the office, too drained to drive back home.

"I understand, dear," Win said sympathetically. "Would you like me to pop around and drop off a sandwich?"

What a woman. "That would be wonderful. Thank you."

"I'll bring Morse a sandwich too. See you in a while."

Thursday blinked as the sound of the dial tone came on. He didn't mention Morse was coming with him.

Throughout the day Thursday studied the list of the graves yet investigated. Some of them were on private property and Thursday would need permission before digging there. Some were on lands so rock-hard, he was going to sprain an muscle trying to put a shovel into that dirt.

He waited till his shift was officially over. By then nearly everyone in the station had gone home, except for one or two poor saps who were still filling out paperwork. He placed Win's lovely sandwiches into his coat pocket, grabbed a shovel from the equipment room and went outside to go to the Jaguar.

Morse and Jakes were waiting for him. "What are you two doing here?"

"What?" Jakes said in mock-offense. "Like we're going to let you get all the glory?"

"The shovels and pick axes are already in the trunk," said Morse. "Do you want to drive or shall I?"

"I'll drive," Jakes said, taking a step forward and snatching the keys out of Thursday's hand. "Felt like I haven't done it in forever."

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday had fond memories of this park. There was so much open space, the kids used to love running around here, screaming their silly little heads off, while Thursday and Win enjoyed the cool weather, sitting on top of a spread blanket.

Tonight, he felt all those memories were sullied now. When the sun was gone, the whole park looked ominous, bleak, unwelcoming and ugly. Knowing there was a body buried somewhere out here gave him the heebie-jebbies.

"Right," said Jakes, lighting a cigarette. The lit end stood out in the dark, like a blinking firefly. "Where are we digging?"

"Gull said he buried the victim under a large rose bush in that vicinity," Morse said, pointing to a patch of trees.

Jakes scowled. "That rose bush could be long gone by now."

"We go looking for it anyway," Thursday said, pulling out the torches from the boot and handing off the shovels and pick axes to them. "C'mon, let's go look."

The wet grass beneath their feet made their shoes squeak with every step. It would've been pretty funny if the situation wasn't so dour. Especially with Morse, because her shoes were so cheaply made, she sounded like a clown with horns attached to the soles.

Thursday shook his head at her. "Remind me to never have you along when we have to arrest someone on a rainy day."

Jakes nearly choked on his cigarette.

They spent the next five minutes searching for the rose bush grave marker and found nothing. "Could be gone by now," said Morse. "Or Gull lied to us again."

"Forget the rose bush," Thursday spat. "Now imagine: the two of you just killed someone. Where would you bury them?"

"Well, first I would kill Morse to rid of all the witnesses," Jakes said automatically.

Morse didn't rise to the bait. "Over there," she said, pointing. "If this is the general place where Gull buried his victim, he would be over there."

"There?" Thursday said. "Why there?"

"The way the trees are lined up here, it would be very hard for the general public to notice a fresh plot of earth. Also, Gull would be able to avoid the roots of the tree. I certainly don't want to be spending an hour digging, only to find out I could only go down three feet due to the roots blocking my way."

" _How often do you think of murder?"_ Jakes muttered softly under his breath.

"Good enough for me," Thursday said. "We start here."

Jakes sucked in one last drag, then tossed his cigarette away. It sizzled as it landed in the wet grass. He shed his coat and his suit jacket, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He shivered slightly in the cold. "Morse, pass me a shovel."

Thursday certainly didn't miss the days when he used to do such annoying manual labour. Though Morse and Jakes should be exempt from such things too, leaving the heavy lifting to lower ranking uniforms, it was a relief not to hear complaining from them as often as Thursday heard from other detectives.

They swapped out every few minutes, passing each other the shovel when they got winded. By the time they dug down to four feet, Thursday announced, "That's enough."

Jakes blinked at him confused. "Sir?"

"We'll start again tomorrow," he said, motioning to Morse to get out the hole. When she silently refused, Thursday added on, "You two are sweating and it's cold out here. I don't want either of you getting sick."

"Sir, we don't have the authorization to have uniforms here to keep the public out," Morse said. "By the time we come back here tomorrow, they could ruin the crime scene."

"Morse is right," Jakes said. "It's better we confirmed this now than later. It's just three more feet, sir. We can plow through that just fine."

Thursday should have brought more men along, volunteers or not. If Jakes or Morse caught their death of cold, Thursday would only have himself to blame. "You two have a point. Budge over, Morse."

She jerked. "Sir?"

"Don't give me that look, I'm not that old." Thursday slipped off his coat. "Get up out of that hole and let me do some of the heavy lifting."

As Morse pulled herself out of the hole, shivering and wet, Thursday slipped his coat over her shoulders.

If it had just been the two of them, Thursday would have thought nothing of it. He moved purely on instinct.

With Jakes there, his eyes creasing in scrutiny at the gentle act, Thursday felt his face burn.

Either Morse didn't notice or didn't care, and simply tugged the large coat better on herself. When she slipped her hands into Thursday's pockets, she frowned and pulled out the sandwiches.

"You two eat those," Thursday said quickly. He was not going to mentioned that Win had only made those sandwiches for him and Morse. "Rest for a bit while I dig."

Morse opened her mouth, then closed it, swallowing down her question. She fucking knew. Thankfully she said nothing and passed the sandwich over to a grateful Jakes.

An hour later, all three of them were huffing, sweating, and sore. In front of them was a hole nearly seven feet deep and a large pile of dirt sitting next to it. There was no corpse to be found.

"Shite," Jakes mumbled, throwing down a shovel in annoyance. "Either there was never a corpse there to begin with or we dug in the wrong area."

"We'll put a question mark next to this name, come back later. Let's go home." Thursday said. His shoulders were so sore. He was pretty sure he pulled something. Morse faired no better; as the shortest one in their group she constantly needed help to climb in and out of the hole safely. She was the dirtiest of them all.

Nobody wanted to fill in the hole. They all stared at each other, almost silently asking one another if they could leave it for somebody else to do. With a groan, they picked up their shovels.

By the time they walked back to the car, Morse was limping, Jakes was rubbing his shoulder with a pained expression and Thursday felt like he was going to drop at any second.

"My place is closest," Jakes suddenly announced. After he shoved the shovels back into the boot, he tiredly leaned his forehead against the Jaguar, groaning. "I'm driving us there and no further. You two will just have to spend the night."

God, Thursday was so grateful he could've kissed him.


End file.
